


It's Sort of About a Boy...

by 131DI



Category: The Croods (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/131DI/pseuds/131DI
Summary: “…and it’s sort of about a tiger. And a sloth.”A short exploration of some of Guy's time on his own. Life as a solitary prehistoric human is dangerous, but he's trying.





	It's Sort of About a Boy...

Stalking had always looked so easy when someone else was doing it.

Light rain drizzled through the thick canopy, splattering on the broad, flat leaves and dripping down the grooves in the bark of the trees. Little of the sky water touched the ground, leaving most of it in its usual dry state, but patches of mud or dangerously slick moss appeared, posing a potential danger to any unobservant passer-by. Sidestepping the dirt was easy enough, but the slippery moss was harder to detect. Most animals were smart enough to avoid both, but a few elephant shrews went sliding by with a single misstep.

Past the broken canopy and ground hazards was a small tree cassowary. A juvenile separated from its herd was easy pickings, if another predator didn’t get to it first. With all of the other targets so far, others had. Calling himself a “predator” as he was at present was laughable, at best. Practice was key, and the young man hardly had any. That was obvious enough by the way Guy’s hands trembled as he tried to steady the simple bow. He was sloppy, pulling much too hard on the string, but he’d learned to touch the side of his fingers to his cheek. He had a bad habit of holding his breath when he drew the arrows back, which only worsened the shakes, but he was nowhere near relaxed enough to pause and exhale. The bird remained in his sights, meandering around the tiny clearing and hopefully unaware of his presence. Already sore from multiple attempts at using the weapon, the would-be hunter felt like he was close to collapsing. Out on the open fields, hunting with a sling was much easier, and something he’d been reasonably good at since he was a little child, but here in the dense forest, it was a pointless endeavor.

_Stay right there,_ Guy thought. It was less of a command, and more of a hopeful prayer, as if he could will the animal to freeze in place.

The bowstring snapped against the leather on his wrist, and the arrow flew through the air - and struck the branch to the cassowary’s left. Startled, the animal disappeared in a flurry of feathers into the underbrush, a frightened screech for its family fading quickly into the distance.

“No!” Guy hissed, stamping hard on the dirt. His heel struck a slick patch of moss and gave out from under him, sending him painfully to the ground. “Ow.”

He lay still for a few minutes, eyes shut tight, his brow creased with frustration. Raindrops struck his face and slid down his cheeks, then disappeared into his tangled hair.

“Okay, come on, get up,” he muttered.

Retrieving arrows was crucial, and he had to get it back before any more skilled hunters native to the jungle caught onto all the noise he was making. Wood from these trees was remarkably thick and durable, which kept arrows from getting stuck too deeply inside the pulp, and it made their removal so much easier. Softer wood was a right pain, and more than once Guy had to leave the arrows behind. Cutting them free would have taken too long, and the local animals took too much interest in what was going on for him to be comfortable. A sharp yank to the shaft pulled his single shot free of the branch, and back into the pouch over his shoulder it went.

Overall, Guy didn’t mind rain. What he did mind was the gloomy light that came down through the clouds, and the mist that often crept in along the forest edge. It made it very hard to tell the sun’s position in the sky, and how much longer he could safely travel on the ground. Normally he would attempt a climb up one of the trees, but in their current soaked state, he was more likely to fall and break his neck. Not exactly a chance he wanted to take in his downtrodden mood and despite his persistent tracking of the cassowary, no further signs of the animal revealed themselves to him. No footprints, no rustling leaves, not a peep. He wanted to cry out and release his pent-up anger, but he knew better. Instead he kicked at a loose rock, which bounced off of a nearby tree, then clattered down a jagged slope to a lower clearing.

A low growl met his ears shortly after the stone came to a stop, and Guy flattened himself against the tree. It sounded a lot like one of the colorful cats that skulked through the lower levels of the forest, but he didn’t want to take a look. He soundlessly grimaced. Of course something big and angry lived in the clearing.

Way to go, stupid.

He carefully slung the bow over his shoulder, then began to creep along the edge of the tree. His eyes never left the ground, watching intently for any remaining dry leaves or twigs, or any more of the wet moss. He wasn’t in the mood to wind up on the menu for a macawnivore this early in the day. Not that he would’ve made a sufficient dinner, anyway.

As he made another step to his right, a warm rush of air met his bare back, and he froze. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, and the bottom of his stomach dropped out. How had the cat moved so quickly? Or worse, had there been another he hadn’t seen? It was possible, but - he hoped - unlikely. All the times he’d encountered the giant cats, they’d been by themselves, and if he kept a respectable distance, they left him alone, unless-

The cat lashed out, missing Guy’s shoulder by barely more than an inch. He dashed away as quickly as his legs could carry him, but the cat was already in hot pursuit. Flat moss and loose rocks soon turned into large tree roots, gnarled and knotted, with large gaps in between. A single misstep would lead to a broken leg, and then the cat would have its much desired dinner. Some of the gaps seemed large enough for Guy to squeeze through, but he had no way of being sure. Not unless he took a gamble and dove for one. Making a jump over a particularly twisted knot, he made a snap decision and went for it. He stuck for a terrifying moment, and the tough bark scraped at the skin on his back, but he slid through. Thankfully the ground was soft enough to cushion his fall. Landing on his shoulders would’ve ended in a much more grisly fashion if it hadn’t been. Massive paws took turns swiping at him through the gap, with sharp claws nearly reaching his flat stomach. One of them would be enough to gut him, and if he moved at all, it would snag him for sure. Better to stay put than to move and confirm his fears. Its furious roar nearly deafened him, and the animal paced back and forth over the roots impatiently. As it passed overhead, Guy glimpsed the furry underside. Faint stripes traced through the white fur, which was dotted by two rows of dark spots - teats. A mother.

Of all the cats in the forest, he caught the interest of the one with cubs to feed.

With that realization, Guy let his head fall back against the soft dirt. He would be stuck here for quite some time, and indeed, the rain paused in its relentless fall and sunlight began to filter through the trees once more before the cat appeared to back off. Her large yellow eyes drooped, tired from her effort, and finally, mercifully, she disappeared from the roots. Guy remained still until he could no longer hear the heavy footfalls of the beast, then scrambled for the gap - but the cat only retreated far enough to fool him. She lunged after the scrawny hunter full tilt. The faster he could get out of there, the better. He was more than happy to ignore his hunger pangs if it meant getting out in one piece.

In his haste to put as much room between him and the cat, he’d passed up several ripe hanging fruit, and only when he reached the forest’s edge did he realize his mistake. He would have turned and gone back for them, but, aside from the tiger, it was just past sundown, and most of the wood and brush he would’ve used to make a torch were still soaked through. Retreating to a high branch was his only safe bet at this point, as much as it annoyed him. The branch he settled on dipped slightly, curving towards the trunk of the tree, with a lip that resembled a shallow bowl. It was enough to keep him from rolling off in his sleep, and the canopy was thick enough to keep most of the water off of him, so it would work well enough for a sleeping place. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but he would take what he could get.

Guy turned his bow over in his hands several times, squinting to examine the rough grains in the wood. He’d held onto it for some time - several summers had gone by - but only began using it for its intended purpose in the last few moons. Before then, it was more of a keepsake, constantly hanging over his shoulder. The same was true for the rough arrows in the crude leather pouch over his other shoulder, though their sharp flint heads had previously served well as an emergency knife. He removed the pouch and counted the shafts. One, two, three, four… five… he sighed. Six. Only six left. Soon the bow would be nothing more than a fancy decoration, and he’d be back to using his sling and knife. Maybe it would be for the better. He was lousy with the bow… but even if he was lousy with it, he wasn’t going to throw it away. He clutched the weapon to his chest and took a deep breath, leaned against the trunk, and shut his eyes. He wished he’d had the chance to ask his father how to make the arrows, and more time to practice, but his inheritance of the weapon had been… somewhat last minute.

A tremendous clap of thunder nearly made him jump out of his skin, and the accompanying lightning flash lit up the field below. Animals were running for their homes and dens to get away from the new wave of rain, both towards and away from the forest line. Rustling leaves above him indicated he was not alone in his treetop resting place, but at least it wasn’t a tiger.

-

A sharp pain on the side of his head roused him from his sleep in a hurry. Guy glanced around in every direction to locate his attacker, but nothing came into view. He rubbed his temple gingerly, and felt a tiny wet spot. Pulling his hand away, he saw a smear of red on his fingertip. Whatever hit him, likely a rock, was sharp enough to give him a shallow cut, but investigation of the branch revealed what appeared to be the pit of a large fruit. A confused look crossed Guy’s face, and he turned his gaze upward to see where the projectile had come from.

Behind a small cluster of skinny branches, a pair of eyes stared right back at him. In the dim morning light, he could make out the bright blue-green of those eyes against a pale mask, surrounded by a dark, dirty burgundy. He wondered if this odd little creature had thrown the fruit pit at him. It didn’t seem aggressive, so maybe it had been an accident.

“Uh,” he began tentatively. “Hey, little… guy.”

A surprisingly loud noise came from the small animal, and it moved, very slowly, out from behind the leaf cluster. Its arms were long and ended in three sickle-shaped claws. Shorter hind limbs with similar claws clung to the branch, curling around the bark and anchoring it in place. A short, stocky body with a small, rounded head made up the rest of it, colored the same dirty burgundy. Hanging from the branch, it fixed its gaze downward, carefully watching him.

Guy couldn’t help the bewildered look on his face. What in the world was this thing? This forest never ceased to surprise him.

“Was this yours?” he asked, holding up the pit. He paused, then furrowed his brow. “Wait, what am I doing? I’m talking to an animal.”

He’d been doing that a lot, he realized. It was hard not to, what with the lack of fellow human company. Guy sighed and tossed the pit into the air, catching it again on his palm.

“Got any more?” he asked again. He held the pit between his thumb and finger, waggling it slightly.

Wordlessly the animal continued to stare. One of its long arms reached out lazily towards him, and its head cocked to one side. Its claws barely touched the tip of the pit before it abruptly turned and started the other way.

“Aw, hey-” Guy started, but cut himself off. He shook his head and dismissively waved his other hand at the creature’s backside. “Oh, never mind.”

With the sun coming up, that meant another long day of failed hunting attempts, unless he could find a suitable stone for a spear head. Deciding this was the best course of action, Guy slipped down the branches of the tree and disappeared into the dense forest.

-

To the young man’s immeasurable relief, he stumbled upon a fallen bunch of slightly green bananas just over a few yards in. Whatever had knocked them down, it must have been strong, judging by the thickness of the stem at the top of the bunch. That was plenty reason for him to take his lucky find and run. And run he did, to the nearest tree with a reasonable distance between its first low hanging branch and the ground. They were much easier to scale now that they were dry, and as soon as he was securely seated, he dug into the precious fruit.

There were four, and all of them had a delightful tang of tart sweetness in every bite. It had been some time since he tasted such delicious, fresh fruit, usually finding overripe berries or others that hung low within the range of the other ground-dwelling animals. He’d learned enough as a youngster to determine when a fruit was past its time, and was best left to the less picky critters that roamed about, but over the last few days, his standards had considerably lowered. Now, however, he was ready to raise the bar once again. He found he got a burst of energy whenever he ate lots of fruit, and it was the perfect boost he needed to take down something more substantial. He badly missed the taste of plump, freshly cooked meat, and bananas would only keep him going for so long.

An anguished screech sounded nearby, jerking Guy from his pleasant train of thought. A short ways from the tree was a disappointed-looking monkey, searching along the ground for what Guy presumed were the bananas he’d just eaten. A single other banana was clenched in the animal’s paw, and after failing to locate the others, it sat down to eat.

Guy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The monkey wasn’t ideal, but it was certainly a decent candidate for food, and it hadn’t noticed him. As carefully and quietly as he could, he pulled his bow from over his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He drew in a slow breath and steadied his hand, then squinted. His vision sharpened, and, feeling confident, he drew the string back to rest near his cheek.

Today’s a lucky day so far, he thought. Let’s go two for two.

The arrow released, and shortly after a pained cry pierced the silence of the forest. Guy couldn’t help the surprised laugh he let out afterward.

“Yes!”

It hadn’t hit the precise spot he hoped for, but it was close enough. A wounded target with drastically reduced speed was better than a missed target. He jumped down from the branch to catch up to the limping monkey and pinned it down with his knee. The arrow stuck out of the right side of its back, and Guy winced when he saw how deep the shot penetrated. On such a small target, the damage was much more visible.

“Sorry, hairball. Guy’s gotta eat,” he said quietly, pulling his knife from the strap on his leg. He drove it into the monkey’s back just below its neck, then gave a hearty twist, and the animal stilled.

Looping the bow over his head, Guy picked up his prize. It was a decently sized monkey, he guessed a young female. Young meant softer meat, and already his mouth was watering. Skinning it would be a bit of a chore, but it would be worth it. He practically clicked his heels as he headed back towards the forest edge, ecstatic.

It was every bit as juicy and tender as he’d hoped. He hadn’t sampled this particular critter before, but he immediately took a liking to it. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if that was his actual preference or his body desperately craving proper nutrition after weeks of meager reserves, but he didn’t mind either way. Crackling brush and wood fed a healthy fire under the uneaten bits of monkey, which were speared on a sharp stick and laid across two branches for support, each with a Y shape on one end. Meat from the monkey’s arms was somewhat tougher, but palatable all the same. Normally Guy would have been more proper with his food, using his knife to cut smaller pieces and spear them on the end, but his excitement and hunger called for doing away with formalities - temporarily. There was a certain satisfaction to be had from licking the shiny oil off of his fingers one by one, and savoring the flavor as the food dwindled down to nothing. A huge smile was plastered across his face as he stood straight, rolled his shoulders, then kicked dirt onto the fire pit. The remains of the monkey carcass were buried as well in an attempt to keep any curious scavengers away from the tree, and, after double checking his work, Guy began the climb back to his branch.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was the oddly arranged pile of brightly colored fruit that sat waiting for him. Raising a brow, he nudged the pile with the end of a snapped twig, and when it did not respond, he shrugged and sat down with his back to the trunk. Not even a moment later, a loud snap put him on edge, and, after a few loud, seemingly pained cries from above, a hairy thing fell into his lap.

“What the-” Guy began to reach for his knife, but hesitated when he saw the same blue-green eyes of the creature from that morning. “Hey, I know you.”

The animal seemed to rub its head and growl in annoyance, then turned its head to look at Guy’s face. Its long arms comically draped over the sides of his lap, touching the flat surface of the branch below them.

“Not all that graceful for somebody who lives in a tree,” Guy teased, smirking.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or if the animal actually scowled back at him. Whatever the case, he laughed and gave it a curious look.

“Did you get all that fruit?”

A quick jerk of his thumb towards the pile caught the creature’s attention, and it turned to follow his motion. It nodded its tiny head in response, and Guy heard himself give a low gasp. Whatever this thing was, it was smart, and if it could gather fruit, it was useful.

“For me?”

It held up a clawed paw and tilted it back and forth several times.

“Uh… I don’t… um.”

Before he could get a word out, the animal plucked a fruit from the pile and chomped down on it, dribbling dark red berry juice onto the tanned leather across Guy’s lap.

“Oh, thanks,” he said sarcastically.

Suddenly looking guilty, it offered the other half of the berry to him.

“Nah, I’m good.”

As it devoured the rest, Guy crossed his arms and watched it carefully, now extremely curious about where this little beast had come from. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen before, and for all the time he’d recently spent in this forest, he had not run into a single critter even remotely similar.

“I wonder if you’re the only one out here…”

He absently stroked his chin, then slowly reached out to touch the furry thing. Remarkably calm, it reacted only with a contented noise when they made contact. It turned its eyes to observe him again, not at all afraid.

“Hm. It’s kinda lonely out there, just me all by myself,” said Guy, moving his hand to scratch under the critter’s chin. “And you’d be a lot easier to keep track of than a wolf… I guess I could take you with me.”

A curious, almost frightened look crossed the animal’s features.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I’m not gonna eat you or anything.”

Again, he wasn’t certain if it was the effect of long-term isolation taking its toll, or if the creature really was understanding him, but he saw it nod again. It turned out to be a he, Guy discovered, taking note as the animal flipped onto its back and wiggled off the side of his lap. It certainly wasn’t graceful, even sloppy, and reminded him of himself when he’d mistakenly eaten those bright blue cactus pears.

“I’ll call you a slow… th. Yeah, sloth,” Guy thought aloud.

The newly christened sloth was seemingly asleep already, oblivious to Guy’s words. The latter reached out to stroke its coarse fur once more, pausing before he scratched the top of its head. What appeared to be pieces of moss were stuck in the purplish fur, and Guy grimaced as he withdrew his fingers.

“I’m gonna guess you don’t groom all that often.”

Careful not to disturb his new slumbering companion, Guy reached over to the fruit pile to retrieve several berries. Sure, his stomach was already full, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity that had been so graciously provided.

A thorough investigation of the tree revealed that the creature was all by itself, miles from anything that could’ve been its family group. In a way, they had that in common - but Guy hoped the others like his friend had gone much more peacefully. Not likely, considering the jungle’s ferocious inhabitants, but it didn’t hurt to dream.

“This is my first day in a long while after getting something decent to eat, and I am not getting killed by that stupid tiger,” Guy mumbled, watching the ground carefully.

Navigating his way through the forest on lower branches proved to be somewhat safer, but slower. His confidence had been renewed thanks to his successful kill, but he wasn’t going to go parading around the forest like a hot shot. That was just plain stupid, and he liked to think he was smarter than that on most days.

A nudge to his shoulder from the sloth caught his attention, and he stopped at the edge of the branch. Wrapping a thick vine around his forearm, Guy leaned forward to gaze down into the clearing below him - mama tiger territory. She was out and about with three cubs, who were terrifyingly quite large already. Any hope that they hadn’t heard him yet was dashed when the tiger’s ears pricked up, and she jerked her head skyward to glare, bare her teeth, and hiss. Something small and grooved - a fruit pit - whizzed by his head and smacked one of the cubs right between the eyes. Angry chattering emerged from his sloth companion, who was now draped loosely over his chest. Guy sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, grabbing the sloth by the back of its neck. “You just hit a tiger!”

His blood ran cold.

They just hit a tiger cub.

“Ohh… oh, no.”

Guy wasn’t sure there was a word to describe the tension that rapidly built in the clearing as the cub was inspected for injuries. All he knew was that he had to get moving, and fast. It didn’t matter how he traveled now, and he wouldn’t have time to draw a weapon or set a trap. This was different than just encroaching on territory. Attacking the precious offspring was a guaranteed death sentence, and the hairy little pest was at fault. Guy would have pried the rotten little animal from his chest and thrown it down to them, but he simply didn’t have time. Instead, he pulled hard on the vine and snapped one end of it, stepped several paces backward, then took a flying leap off the end of the branch. Down he swung in an arc, a little faster than he’d expected, and he connected painfully with the ground below. Adrenaline surged through him as he heard the tiger roar and give chase, and in an instant he was back on his feet.

Running had become something of a strong suit of his during his time alone, because after all, building traps and crafting weapons to defend himself could only go so far. If an animal was smart enough to evade capture, or strong enough to break a knife, he’d need fast legs to get him to safety, and right now, he was grateful for every single time he’d been chased across the vast savannas on his way here. Twigs and sharp leaves scratched at his skin and pulled at his hair, but in his desperate flight, he barely noticed them. Only a single word kept circulating through his mind: run. Run fast, and run far. As far as he could go, and as far as the land stretched. Far, far away from this jungle and everything in it, and back out into the open space. Back into the sunlight, and away from the mottled darkness of the forest floor. Anything to stay away from the dark.

He hated the dark.

In truth, he had no idea why the forest had seemed appealing in the first place. His insatiable wanderlust and curiosity brought him here, rather than any kind of logic or reasoning. He wanted to see something else new and exciting, a place full of more mysteries waiting to be uncovered, but what he got was a lot less pleasant than he’d imagined. So far all he’d gotten from the forest were torn hides, broken arrows, gnawing hunger, itchy insect bites, and what was probably a parasite-riddled beast that now clung to him for dear life.

“You’d better appreciate what I’m doing for you,” he growled at the sloth, panting heavily. His throat and lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. Dropping to his knees, he slid along a smooth patch of grass and underneath a raised tree root, then smoothly popped back into his running stride. He did not stumble, and his steps did not falter - he was moving on instinct, and that was the only thing keeping him one jump ahead of the mouth full of razor sharp fangs and tusks… but one jump wouldn’t last forever. Soon the gap would be closed, and the tiger would lash out with one of its massive paws and strike him across the back-

It was just as painful as he thought it would be, but instead of his back, the tiger’s claws raked across his leg, cutting through the brown furry hide he’d wrapped around his waist. Unprepared for the sheer force of the blow, Guy was knocked clean off his feet and tossed several yards away, where he began tumbling down a steep, but thankfully rounded and hilly incline. Landing shoulder-first on hard, flat rock at the bottom made him cry out in pain and instinctively grab for the injury, but he had little time to nurse his wounds. Gentle tugging on the remaining hides made him jerk his head to the left. The sloth, remarkably unharmed beyond similar shallow cuts from sharp leaves, was pointing beyond the rocks, and towards-

“A waterfall!” Guy blurted. He could easily put some considerable distance between him and his pursuer if he jumped… dangerous as it was. He scrambled to his feet once again, but before he could dart forward, another heavy blow to his back from a giant clawed paw struck him down. Panic washed over him as the air left his lungs, and he clutched his stomach protectively as the tiger advanced. She raised her paw yet again, but as she drew near, her whole body jerked, then suddenly took a step backward and whined.

Between pained gasps, Guy located the reason why she had paused in her pursuit: the tiny sloth had lashed out with its claws, which were apparently very sharp as well, and struck the cat across the nose. It remained firmly attached to him, but its arms were long enough to cover the distance between them and the tiger… and now that they’d acquired a few precious feet between them, Guy found the strength to rise and make a mad dash to the waterfall’s edge. A frightened squeak of protest came from the sloth, drowned out by the thundering roar of the water below. Guy was rapidly running out of rock in front of him, and he had to make a decision. It was a long way down, but it would certainly slow the tiger’s progress. There was also a very good chance he wouldn’t survive the fall.

He jumped.

Water rushed up to meet him, slamming into him with all the force of a stampeding mammoth. Deeper and wider than it appeared to be at the top of the falls, it offered little for Guy to grab as he tumbled head over end in the current. Finally his hands found purchase on a jutting stone tens of yards down the rushing river, and he wrapped himself around it. Still terrified beyond measure, he chanced a look back at the falls - the tiger was nowhere to be seen. Steep ledges and tangled roots blocked the river from both sides, stretching out for quite a way in both directions.

Never had he sighed with such relief.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but soon solid ground was under his feet again, and as soon as it was, he collapsed. For a while the only noises that met his ears were the constant gurgles of the river, and his own ragged breathing. He hadn’t drowned. Nothing felt broken, and aside from the freely bleeding tiger scratches, he was, incredibly, uninjured. Weakly he turned his head to the side, and despite the gravity of what just unfolded, a laugh escaped him. Water and sloths didn’t mix well, Guy discovered as he watched it pick at grains of sand stuck in its fur. It shot him what resembled a dirty look, then flopped onto its side.

“Thanks,” Guy mumbled, finding enough strength to nudge the animal. “For helping me out. Even if you did cause this mess.”

An indignant huff was all he got in response.

For hours they lay there on the bank, exhausted and elated. Only when Guy’s adrenaline rush began to wear off did he feel the aching in his leg, and he carefully turned over to assess the damage: four long scratches, thankfully not deep, spread across his thigh. What was left of his hides were now sticky and clumped, barely holding together over the lacerations. A jolt of disappointment shot through him. He’d worked so hard to keep his clothing in good condition, but now they were riddled with holes and caked with blood and wet sand. They were useless, and a terrible hazard. In this environment, he found out long ago that blood did not dry easily. The air was too sticky and wet, and it drew predators like no other bait he’d ever armed a trap with. If he wanted the tiger to stay gone, he’d have to part with his furs.

Guy hesitated. He could skin more animals and tan more hides, but without them, he was dreadfully exposed. Physically and mentally. It made him feel… small.

A quick comb of the river’s shorelines revealed his knife and sling had survived the rough landing, but there was no sign of his bow. Only a piece of the rough leather pouch could be unearthed from the sand.

“Guess it was about time for that thing, anyway,” he said quietly.

His voice cracked and his fist tightened around the soggy leather. Never had he been given the chance to learn how to make one himself, or make more of the graceful arrows that flew through the air. It had all been thrust upon him unceremoniously from father to son, permanently marked by tar-stained hands. Guy clenched his jaw and drew in a shaky breath, balled the leather piece in his fist, then threw it across the river as hard as he could.

Peeling the hides away from his leg, he inspected the scratches a little more closely. Dirt from the tiger’s claws and sand from the bank stuck to the edges, and if experience told him anything, he’d have to clean it to avoid a deep ache and a burning fever. The two side effects had nearly incapacitated him the last time he neglected to do so, and he learned quickly from his mistake. It was such a minor scratch at the time, too, so now it was even more important to take care of it. Dipping into the cool water would do away with the unpleasant smudges and splotches he’d acquired during his time in the forest, and would give him the opportunity to pick through his badly tangled hair. During the chase, he’d lost the tie keeping part of it out of his face, and his shaggy bangs fell in front of his eyes after he ran his hands over his head. He wasn’t particularly finicky about its condition, but he didn’t want leaves and thorns sticking around. That was his hair, not a bird’s nest, and he was civilized, darn it all.

Waterlogged hides cut just as well as dry ones, he found, and after a bit of careful removal of existing stitches and poking with his knife, Guy crafted a small pouch from the useable scraps. It would be enough to carry what little he had, and the rest to cover the clotting slashes. Later, he would find tree sap to help them heal. For now, he had to get up and get moving. Following the river seemed to be his best option for the time being, and he would do so until he could no longer see the forest. Out of sight, out of mind.

Standing upright hurt - everything hurt, really - but he managed to do it all the same. Picking up his sloth made his back twinge uncomfortably, but he wasn’t going to leave the creature all by itself.

“One of these days, you’re gonna have to tell me what made you throw that pit,” said Guy, giving the sloth a pointed look, “because you owe me a bow.”

Rolling its eyes, the sloth took its place on his back, wrapping its arms loosely around his neck. Its wet fur was cool against his skin, and as he began down the bank, Guy could feel the poor thing start to shiver. He couldn’t blame him. Extending a sympathetic hand was all he could do, affectionately scratching at his companion’s head. A low noise resembling a purr bubbled up from the sloth, and a smile crept onto Guy’s face.

Choosing to adopt the bizarre little animal as a traveling companion was proving to be one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> From my original blog post in 2013: "I became very interested in Guy’s backstory, and thought I would try my hand at filling in some of the time he must have spent all by his lonesome out there in the world. Some bits come from my speculation about the level of development early Homo sapiens had in this universe, like the inclusion of a primitive bow, but otherwise there’s not much deviation."


End file.
